


Fill the Night with Hollering

by saraubs



Series: Tumblr Fics [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: BAMF Stiles, M/M, War AU, sterek, sterek au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraubs/pseuds/saraubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura’s body shows up just days after she’d told Derek about a possible peace treaty with Stilinski, the human leader. Peter demands to punish Stilinski himself, which leaves Derek roaming his property in a vengeful rage. It's there that he stumbles on a human boy who isn’t as weak as he seems…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fill the Night with Hollering

It’s been a week since Derek’s been back to the site of his family’s house. A week since he buried his sister’s body. A week since he has had enough control to leave the compound and set foot in his sister’s – now Peter’s – territory.

It has not been a week, Derek knows from the scent of human, high and sharp in the air, since someone has wandered on his land uninvited.

He stalks through the trees, the scent of the intruder guiding him forward. His anger is a constant thrum beneath his skin, a geyser ready to be unleashed. He hasn’t felt this kind of pressure from his wolf since he was a child, running through these woods, trying to keep up with Laura. It’s been years since his human skin has felt this tight, stretched too thin over a beast that’s starving for revenge. 

He wonders, as he picks his way through the trees, what the consequences would be if he ignored Peter’s orders. It wouldn’t be hard to get Stilinski’s guards to let him slip through in the middle of the night. Peter might be the Alpha, and the werewolf figurehead, but the pack is loyal to Derek. He’s been the one at the front, leading them for the past three years. He’s been the one to share in their pain, in their victories and defeats. 

The humans’ leader would be dead before Peter smelled his blood.

The cracking of a branch pulls him from his thoughts. The smell from earlier is strong, permeating the clearing. He looks up to find himself a few feet away from the intruder. His eyes bleed yellow and his canines lengthen before he even has time to think. He snarls, and the sound rumbles across the silent stretch of space between him and the human boy. 

The kid is tall and gangly, with hair shorn close to his head. His shoulders are hunched, but Derek can still make out a split lip, a few scrapes on his nose. He looks thin, malnourished, and the sharp tang of fear clings to his ragged clothes. He’s not militia, Derek would be willing to bet, and he’d probably get very little satisfaction from killing him. Still, that doesn’t mean he wants some stranger skulking around his land.

"This is private property," he says, not bothering to pull in the fangs.

"Sorry man," the kid mutters, tugging on the strings of his bright red hoodie. "I didn’t know."

Probably a drifter then. Derek doubts he’ll make it two days wandering through werewolf territory. “Don’t you have any family, kid?”

The boy steps closer, and Derek realizes he made a mistake; he’s not a kid at all. He’s got scars on his neck - claw marks - and Derek’s gut rolls. There’s only one place that a human as pretty as this one would get scars like that. “No,” he says quietly. “They’re gone.”

Derek recognizes the bitter tang in the air as the stench of loss. It’s strange, there’s been so much death in this war, and yet Derek feels so connected to this scrawny, doe-eyed boy. He finds himself stepping closer without really knowing why. 

The boy mirrors his movement and takes a step toward him. He really must have no sense of self-preservation, to come this close to a werewolf. “I,” the kid says, then pauses. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and he arches his neck just so.

Torn between revulsion and arousal, Derek knows for sure that his hunch was right; humans don’t just know how to press a werewolf’s buttons like that.

He’s about to explain that he’s not interested in that, that he would never, when he’s pushed flat on his back, a taser jabbing into his side.

“You little – ” he snarls. His claws extend, but he can’t seem to get his arms to lift off the ground.

“Now listen, _Derek_ ,” the human says, grinning down at him. “You’re going to calm down and shut up, and maybe,” – he pushes a gun to Derek’s forehead – “this wolfsbane bullet won’t find its way into your brain.”

“You better kill me,” Derek snarls. “Or –”

“Or what?” the boy hisses. Derek hates to admit it, even to himself, but he looks even better like this, bright and strong and unforgiving. “You’ll take me like you did my father?”

 _His father_? Derek racks his brain, trying to think through the prisoners he’d taken, the hostages he’d handed over to Peter, and not one matches up, by scent or face.

“You wouldn’t have known,” the human continues, driving his hand into Derek’s solar plexus. “It was his idea to send me away.” He takes a shaky breath, and Derek can taste that familiar scent of bitter self-loathing. “He wanted to keep me _safe_.”

And now, with the twist of his mouth like that, Derek can see. He knows. He howls, full of rage, and the kid smiles again.

“Stilinski,” Derek spits, and for a second he can hear Laura talking about peace, talking about Stilinksi, the human leader who would be _different_.

“I prefer Stiles,” the kid says with a smirk. He slips a long, thin wire out of his jacket and loops it around Derek’s wrists. His skin burns as the wolfsbane seeps through. “Now, I’m only going to ask once: where the _fuck_ is my father?”


End file.
